


Shields

by KanarandTarkaleanTea



Category: Fandom: Deep Dish Nine, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Awkwardness, Discussions on Kotra & Phantom of the Opera, M/M, Sharing Clothes, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-05
Updated: 2013-10-05
Packaged: 2017-12-28 11:13:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/991367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KanarandTarkaleanTea/pseuds/KanarandTarkaleanTea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Julian wears Garak's suit.  Cloth is just one of the many barriers between them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shields

**Author's Note:**

> The characters in this piece are based on Lady Yate-Xel’s Garak and Bashir from the Deep Dish 9 universe, but are not part of the “canon.” Many parts of this piece are also informed by the DD9 fics that have come before, and I want to give special thanks to those beautiful writers. I sincerely hope the authors will interpret these references as an homage — they are certainly intended as such.
> 
> This piece wouldn’t exist if not for Tinsnip’s amazing assistance and beta’ing. I owe her an infinite amount of thanks. I also am immensely grateful to Lady Yate-Xel for giving the “go-ahead,” and just in general for her creation of the DD9 Garak and Bashir.
> 
> Even though this should be much better grammatically than my usual work (thanks to Tinsnip’s beta), I did mess with it after she edited, so I can guarantee there will be errors, and they are 100% mine.

_Oh, shit._

Julian ended the call with his mom and shuffled over to the little cubby that could have been called a closet had it actually held more clothes. For a few seconds he stared at the eclectic assortment — two button up shirts, a couple pairs of khakis, hospital scrubs, the tight black jeans he wore when he went out clubbing… nothing, absolutely nothing that he could wear to his cousin’s wedding. 

Between finals, his shifts at Deep Dish 9, and time spent at theaters, book stores, and coffee shops with Garak, he had completely spaced that his cousin Rania was getting married tomorrow. 

And of course it couldn’t be one of those laid back casual weddings, could it? No, it had to be a fancy affair with suits and ties and polished shoes. 

“You’ll wear something nice, won’t you, Jules?” his mother had implored. He had rolled his eyes — she was even worse that his tailor friend when it came to despairing about his clothing choices. But he had promised her that he would wear something appropriate. And that it would be ironed. 

Now, looking at his closet, he had images of showing up to his little cousin’s black-tie wedding in scrub bottoms and an Electric Six t-shirt. 

What was he going to do? 

He looked at the clock. 10:30 pm. No. He shouldn’t. He couldn’t bother Garak at this time of night. What if he was asleep? What if he wasn’t dressed…?

He felt his heart beat a little faster.

But Garak was his only hope, and five minutes later he was scurrying down the basement stairs. 

When the tailor opened the door, though, he didn’t look as though he’d just been roused from sleep, and he was most certainly dressed. In fact, he was wearing the most formal set of pajamas Julian had ever seen. He guessed that they were silk, and probably the fabric alone cost more than most of the contents of his own wardrobe. Unbidden, the thought ran through his mind that they probably felt amazing on bare skin. Julian blushed and felt even more pathetically dressed than he usually did. 

“Julian, what a pleasant surprise. Please, come in.” Garak opened the door and ushered him inside. 

After he was in, he grabbed Garak’s arms and looked at the tailor with round eyes; a bit melodramatic, perhaps, but this was serious business. “Help!” 

Garak’s face was a picture of concern. Wrapping an arm around Julian’s shoulders, he guided him over to the couch. “What is it, my dear?” 

“There’s a wedding tomorrow.” 

Garak looked confused. “And?” 

“And I have nothing to wear!” 

A pause, and then a smile tweaked one corner of Garak’s lips. Then a chuckle. Then a laugh. 

Julian tried to remain stern, but couldn’t help himself and he began to laugh, too — the situation _was_ pretty absurd. But still, this was his mom, and he couldn’t disappoint her. “It’s not funny! My mom will kill me if I show up looking anything less than perfect!” 

The tailor’s smile was still bubbling to the surface. “Well, we can’t have that, can we?” He stood and Julian felt a steady hand on his shoulder. “Come with me.” 

As Garak led them into the bedroom, Julian felt a little thrill run up his spine. He had spent many evenings in Garak’s apartment, but had never been afforded such an unfettered view of the tailor’s private space. It was strange thinking that this was where Garak slept. Where he changed clothes. Where he probably did… other things. 

Garak opened his closet doors and Julian’s eyes widened. Colors and patterns and textures all vying for his attention. Outside of the tailor’s shop, he had never seen so many rich looking clothes in such a small space. 

“Are all of these yours?” 

Garak glanced out of the corner of his eye, a quirk at the corner of his mouth. “I don’t usually make it a habit to keep other people’s clothes in my closet.” And Julian felt his cheeks heat up again. He watched as the tailor rifled towards the back, pausing occasionally. Finally, he seemed to find what he was looking for. “Ah, I think this should do nicely.” 

The suit was a shiny gunmetal grey, and it was beautiful. The sheen of the fabric glowed even in the dim lighting of the room, and the supple way it draped made it look almost like rippling water. Without being aware of it, Julian reached out to feel the sleeve between his fingers. 

“Wow.” 

Garak smiled, holding it up against Julian’s body. “It might be a little broad in the shoulders, perhaps a little too short in the legs, but with a few minor adjustments I think it will look quite fetching on you.” 

Julian looked down at the outfit now pressed against him. It looked just about his size… which was a little confusing. “This is really yours?” 

Garak sighed. “Yes. Granted, I haven’t worn it in years.” 

“Well, it‘s… It looks really nice,” he finished lamely. Not that Garak was fat — no, more solidly muscular, really… maybe a little pudgy around the middle… but Julian had been a bit concerned that anything he borrowed from the tailor would engulf him. His desperation, however, had made him willing to endure the chiding that his family would give him for looking like David Byrne in his “Big Suit.” Better that then showing up in something that had obviously come from the clearance rack. 

Garak hung the hanger from a little hook on the back of the door. “I’ll be out in the living room while you try it on.” 

“OK.” Julian dipped his head and smiled, biting his lip. “Thanks, Garak.” 

Garak paused, eyes wide and lingering on Julian's mouth, then he gave one of his little head nods and closed the door behind him. 

Julian had to admit it felt strange being left alone in Garak’s bedroom. Sure, they’d known each other for a while now; trading books and going to plays and movies. They’d even begun holding hands and sharing a few chaste kisses — not that he had told Miles or his friends at Deep Dish 9 the last bit. Yet in spite of the growing intimacy between them, so often Julian still sensed the barrier that Garak maintained between himself and the rest of the world — a sort of shield that kept everything, including Julian, at a distance. 

Once in a while, though, there would be a moment — a shared laugh, the touch of a hand, or the brief widening of beautiful blue eyes — and Garak would suddenly feel there; present with him in the moment, unprotected and bare. Each time it happened, Julian’s heart would flip: he was being let in, even if it was just a little. And whenever the shields were lowered, it made him feel like maybe the time was right. That maybe finally things were going to happen.

…But then something would shift, someone would intrude on the moment or Julian would say something stupid and Garak’s protective barrier would be raised; the wry smile would resume its customary position, and the veil would descend in his friend’s eyes.

Julian ran a hand through his hair. He’d been struggling with this situation for a while now. When they had just started “dating” Julian had been totally nervous and unsure about whether he could even be attracted to another man; the thought had never even crossed his mind before. But there was something about Garak — a sensuousness, an allure — and lately Julian’s mind had been awash in scenarios: What would happen if one evening he just started unbuttoning Garak’s shirt? Or what if he let his hand settle on Garak’s upper thigh the next time they were at the theater? Or what if he pulled one of those oh-so-fake stretching moves at the movies where his arm just happened to settle around Garak’s shoulders?

The problem was that he didn’t have any answers to these “what ifs.” While he was fairly certain Garak wanted more intimate contact, Julian sensed that the tailor was reluctant to let things go too far — which wasn’t what he’d been expecting at all. Everyone at work had been so diligent in warning him about Cardassians’ lusty ways, and from seeing Dukat badger Nerys, he had figured that as soon as Julian showed even the slightest hint of interest, Garak would be all over him. But so far Julian had made every first move in their relationship… and frankly it was kind of frustrating. While he wasn’t sure exactly how far he was willing to go, he _was_ getting to the point that he kind of wanted to find out. 

But there they were, still only holding hands, and every time he even made a move to do anything else, Garak would back away. He knew a lot of it was Garak’s damn elusiveness — the separation and the web of evasions he had set up around himself, keeping everything and everyone else out. But damn it! Julian knew that Garak was attracted to him. Wanted more than just friendship. So why were they still only holding hands?!

Julian let out a sharp exhalation and looked around himself. Well, here he was: in the man’s bedroom about to try on his clothes. It was strange, but felt… promising? The way Garak hadn’t questioned the idea of him borrowing a suit, the way the tailor hadn’t even hesitated to bring Julian into his bedroom… Julian felt a thrill: half nervous, half excited. 

Julian looked at the suit hanging on the back of the door and approached it warily — without a doubt, the outfit before him was probably the most expensive thing he’d ever been in a position to wear. And it was Garak’s. Garak had worn that suit — even if it had been years ago.

He took the jacket and the vest off the hanger and was amazed at how light they were, even though they were both fully lined. He placed them gently on the bed. The shirt was a very fine silk and the nap felt soft and buttery against his fingertips. He yanked his t-shirt off and pulled his arms through purple silk sleeves — wrapped it around his chest. Oh! The way the fabric moved against his skin and the light scattering of hair on his torso was very different from how all his cotton clothing felt. The way it caressed his skin…

He swallowed. Moving on. He shimmied out of his flannel PJ pants, and felt a momentary pang of embarrassment over the somewhat-too-tight rocket ship boxer shorts he had on. Even though the door was closed, he cast a quick glance towards the living room as though Garak could sense the fashion faux pas he was wearing.

Pulling on the trousers also sent a little shiver down his spine, but he set his jaw and focused on his reflection in the mirror. The pants were a little short, and a bit roomy in the waist, but not nearly as roomy as he thought they would be.

He pulled on the vest and the jacket; again, they were a bit large, but he was stunned at how similar in size to himself Garak must have been when…

“When” was indeed the question. Even though he’d always been curious about the tailor’s history, when he imagined Garak’s past, it was with the tailor looking exactly as he did now. He realized that was stupid, of course. Garak obviously hadn’t been born looking a touch pudgy and middle-aged. But it was one of those things he had never really stopped to think about. Now, wearing a suit that had been Garak’s when he was younger, and realizing he must have been quite thin at one time, he wondered exactly how the tailor had looked.

He darted his eyes around the bedroom, hoping for a picture. Maybe Garak and his parents. Or Garak with a boyfriend. Or girlfriend. Whatever. Something that would give him an idea of how he had looked.

But there was nothing. The room was sparsely decorated. A few tasteful knick-knacks, a rich looking duvet, a city landscape on the wall that he figured was a city in Cardassia… but nothing of a really personal nature. Nothing that gave any hint as to the personality of the individual to whom the room belonged. The only thing that struck him as particularly personal was a decorative mask on the dresser. 

“Is it fitting all right?” Garak called through the door, and there was definitely a note of concern in his voice. Oh, geez, how long had he been daydreaming in his friend’s bedroom? Obviously long enough to cause the tailor to worry.

“Um, yeah, be out in a second.” He looked at himself in the full-length mirror again, and felt just a little thrilled at the debonair man reflected back at him. He adjusted the collar, and noticed how it seemed to make his neck appear even more elongated and elegant. He imagined that the silver and purple would have looked very nice on his friend. Even though their pigmentation was different, it looked rather good on him, too. And maybe it was just a touch big, but it was the type of big that filled him out without dwarfing his thin frame.

He ran his hands down the lapels and felt a crinkling. Hmm. He dipped his fingers into the inner breast pocket and pulled out a folded manila envelope. On the outside, the name _Elim_ was written in a bold yet graceful script. He swallowed. Even though Julian knew Garak’s first name was Elim, he never used it. It felt too personal — which was really kind of weird when he thought about it. It was just his name, after all, and they were friends, friends who held hands... and kissed. Yet the tailor’s name fell into that area of grey; lost in the shielded space that separated Garak from the rest of the world.

He looked at the envelope, squeezing it, giving it a little shake — there was definitely something inside. Paper and something squishy. It wasn’t sealed, so maybe just a quick look inside…

 _You shouldn’t,_ he chastised himself. It wasn’t polite to snoop. But _maybe_ just a peek.

“Do you need any help?” The undercurrent of concern was stronger in the tailor’s voice now, and Julian guiltily stopped opening the envelope. 

“No, just coming out now,” he said in a rush. 

Quickly, he wrapped his t-shirt and pajama bottoms around his boxer shorts and made a tight little bundle. Then, he looked at the envelope. What to do with it? He looked at the door. Did he really want to be caught with it?

Biting his lip, he stuffed the envelope in the middle of his clothes — he would deal with it later. Opening the door, he couldn’t help but blush a little at Garak’s wide-eyed gaze.

“You look… very nice,” the tailor said, and there were whole paragraphs contained in the breathy statement. 

Julian’s blush deepened. “Thanks. It’s a really nice suit. I’m surprised it fits as well as it does,” he said and instantly regretted it. 

Garak quirked an eyebrow. “Even I was once as young and as svelte as you, my dear,” he said, and Julian felt like an arse, but Garak was already beckoning him to stand on a little footstool. “I can’t promise that the fit will be perfect, but I can at least alter some of the more glaringly obvious shortcomings. Now, when will you be leaving tomorrow for this wedding?” 

“It’s an evening wedding, and my mom will be picking me up right when my class ends at 4:30.” 

Garak’s jaw tightened. “And you probably won’t have time to come back here.” He appraised Julian. “Well, the coat doesn’t look too bad. Let me see the vest.” He quickly unbuttoned the coat and Julian tried not to think about how the other man was undressing him — didn’t want the fit off the pants affected by the proximity. Garak’s hands slid the jacket off of his shoulders, draping it carefully over the arm of the couch. “I should be able to take this in rather quickly. Do you want to wait here or pick it up tomorrow morning?” 

“Um, I don’t want you to have to do it now. Or anything. You’re already doing me a huge favor loaning this to me.” 

Garak brushed off his words. “It’s professional pride, my dear. While it won’t be perfect, I refuse to let you go out in an obviously ill-fitting suit.” His hands worked quickly, pinning the vest with practiced efficiency. Feeling the tailor’s hands run up his flanks gave Julian a shiver. While it was all very professional, it was really the most intimate place the tailor had yet touched him. If Garak was aware of the fluttering in his stomach, he showed no sign and continued in a business-like tone. “I should be able to lower the hems of the pants in, say, thirty minutes. The vest will take a little longer — maybe forty-five with just a very rushed pass under the sewing machine. I’m afraid the inside seams will be far from perfect, so you have to promise me one thing: do not take off the vest, even if you dance.” 

“I promise.” Julian flinched at how cracked his voice sounded, and Garak’s movements stopped abruptly. For a second, they just looked at each other, Garak’s hands still pressed against his ribs, Julian’s pulse racing. It was one of those moments: balanced on the edge of a razor. Moments where Julian’s first instinct was to throw caution to the wind and just get on with it. He bit his lip. 

Garak’s eyes were wide, and for a moment the barrier between them was gone. Then the tailor looked away, back down to the vest and the pins. Shields up. “Well, good. I won’t have a rushed job exposed for the entire world to see.” He eased himself to his knees and rolled Julian’s pant leg up, gliding the seam ripper smoothly. Julian closed his eyes, his shoulder muscles tightening. He tried not to think of Garak being on his knees in front of him. Refused to look down at the latitude of smooth black hair, or of hands moving with confidence and precision. 

Thankfully, Garak was a consummate professional and had the pants pinned in very little time. “All right, then. Did you decide if you wanted to pick the suit up tomorrow morning or did you want to stay?” 

Julian looked at the clock. “You really don’t mind doing this tonight?” 

Garak’s smile put him more at ease. “It will be relatively easy, and I wasn’t quite ready to go to bed yet anyway.” 

Julian relaxed. “Then if you don’t mind, can I just stay?” 

“Of course.” Garak picked up the coat and led him back into the bedroom.

Running on auto pilot, Julian got undressed and pulled his own clothes back on. He was again confronted by the envelope. What should he do? He thought of his options: give it to Garak and then feel awkward that he hadn’t done that in the first place? Stuff it under the bed? Into the pocket of another suit? There were no good options. After a moment he slipped it back into the breast pocket of the grey coat. 

Trousers and vest over his arm, shirt and coat back on the hanger, Julian reentered the living room and had to smile at the slightly frumpy image that he saw. There was Garak at his sewing machine, reading glasses perched on his nose as he threaded a bobbin. 

“Thanks again for all of this, Garak. I really appreciate it.” 

Garak waved a dismissive hand. “It’s nothing,” he said and without further ado got to work. 

Julian made a couple of attempts at conversation, but Garak was obviously in the “tailoring zone” and replied with only the bare minimum of verbal acknowledgement. 

Sighing, Julian, resigned himself to sitting on the couch alone with his thoughts. He began to wonder once again about Garak’s past and what he had been like when he was younger. Julian had often amused himself with thoughts of his friend being an agent for the Cardassian Intelligence Agency — but every time that he had hinted at Garak being a part of the CIA, the Cardassian would simply tilt his head and comment on his vivid imagination. Not that looking at the tailor now as he bent over his sewing machine gave any hints as to what his past entailed. But Julian had seen too many flashes of deadly intensity, of movements that seemed more potentially lethal than anything he had ever witnessed. Garak personified stealth and precision, and often a stillness that was unnerving to witness. 

Had he worn that very suit on some covert operation? Even though Garak often reiterated that being a spy would be nothing like a James Bond movie, Julian imagined a scene. Garak, slim and younger, wearing the suit in Monte Carlo as he executed convoluted plots — and possibly the enemies of Cardassia. Sipping kanar, neither shaken nor stirred, and playing baccarat early into the morning as he scoped out his target. Garak in the back of a limousine, opening an envelope that was programed to self-destruct after fifteen minutes. 

Perhaps that was what was in the envelope he’d found. The information for a mission. Perhaps an alias; details of a life he could put on as easily as he could don a grey suit. 

“There,” Garak said, straightening his spine with several loud pops. Julian watched him get up and bring an ironing board out from the hall closet. As he ironed the old hemline from the pants and put a little finishing sharpness to the vest, Julian couldn’t help but smile; the image of his friend bent over the ironing board, peering over the top of his reading glasses seemed very far removed from Julian’s espionage related musings. 

“Do you have a tie?” the tailor asked as he hung the items with the shirt and the coat. 

“Uh, I have _one_ …” Julian grimaced. The tie was covered with characters from a cartoon, and he wasn’t quite ready to admit that to Garak. Thankfully he didn’t have to as Garak cocked his head knowingly. 

“I think I have one that will go with this suit.” Garak disappeared back into his bedroom and reemerged with a light and dark silver striped tie. He waved a hand for Julian to stand, and he scrambled up from the couch. 

“Do you know how to tie a Windsor knot?” Garak asked. 

Julian pressed his lips together, snatching the tie from the tailor’s hands. “Of course I do,” he said, then looped the fabric around his neck. He searched back in his memory from when his uncle had taught him to tie a tie: over, under, _over_ , _under_ , over-under, through… Finished. 

The knot was big and crooked, and the bottom of the tie hovered about two inches above his navel. 

They looked at each other, then down at the tie, then back to each other. 

And they both burst out laughing.

Julian closed his eyes and shook his head. “You must wonder how I even manage to dress myself on a daily basis.” 

“The question may have crossed my mind,” Garak said with a smile, then he reached up and ran a finger down the bridge of Julian’s scrunched nose. “Don’t pout. You had the basic steps down, but you went too quickly.” With deft fingers he loosened the tie. “You want the wide end to be at least twelve inches lower than the narrow end…” Garak adjusted the fabric, and Julian tried to act nonchalant, but his breath hitched just a little as the tailor’s knuckles skimmed the waistband of his pajamas. “Then, with each step, you should make sure that there is as little give as possible. You want the knot to be tight.” His movements were swift and sure, and when Julian tucked his chin to look at the tie, he wasn’t surprised to see that it was perfect. He looked at his friend in gratitude. 

“I can’t thank you enough for all this, Garak.” 

The Cardassian tilted his head, fingers still absentmindedly fiddling with the tie. “Consider it a small gesture to appease your mother’s wrath.” 

Julian smiled, and then leaned in, his free hand reaching out and massaging the junction of Garak’s shoulder and neck, preparing for one of those light, thoroughly unsatisfying kisses. Yet this time, Garak suddenly froze, the muscles in his neck tight under the young man’s fingers. Julian had meant the touch to his friend’s neck as a lightly intimate gesture, but Garak’s pupils dilated and he hardly breathed. For a moment Julian wondered if he hadn’t made some horrible cultural faux pas. That was the problem with Cardassians — every gesture had implications that were inscrutable: affection and trust were shown by mimicking holding a knife to a person’s throat, and what seemed to be innocuous gestures showed hostility. 

Then he was confronted with one of the most lust-filled glances he’d ever seen shot his way, and Garak quickly moved back, the veil descending in his eyes. 

“Um, sorry,” Julian stammered and pulled back his hand. 

Garak looked away. “No. There is no reason for you to apologize.” He cleared his throat. “Well, I hope you have a very pleasant time at the wedding. Perhaps if your mother takes any pictures, you might give one to me. I would like to verify that my alterations were sufficient.” 

“Sure thing.” Julian said, and before he knew it, he was out in the hall, having been rushed out by his thoroughly flustered-looking friend. 

* * * 

The look on his mother’s face was enough to tell him that Garak’s alterations had been more than “sufficient.” 

“Oh, Jules! You look wonderful,” she said as she adjusted his tie. “I didn’t even know you had such a nice suit.” 

“I don’t. I mean… I borrowed it. From a friend.” 

She raised her eyebrows. “Then perhaps your friend can take you shopping sometime. He obviously has good taste.” 

He was about to reply that what she said was an understatement, but she was already rattling on about what a beautiful ceremony it was going to be, and how she couldn’t believe his little cousin Rania was getting married, and how it seemed like only yesterday Rania and he had been fighting over the last pieces of birthday cakes from days gone by, and how they had always argued like a brother and sister, and how Rania had grown up to be such a beautiful young woman, and how her fiancé was such a loving and successful man, and wasn’t it about time that Julian started to think about finding a nice girl to settle down with? and how she _would_ like to have grandchildren one of these days…

Julian “Yes mother”-ed until the ushers escorted them to their seats and the hall fell into silence. 

The ceremony was like most weddings: boring and monotone. The only highlight was when his bratty little cousin stuck her tongue out at him as she walked down the aisle — much to the chagrin of Julian’s mother and aunt. But it made him smile and remember the fun times they’d had when they were kids. Rania had always been a pain, and she had a special talent for getting him into trouble, but they had gone on some “big adventures” and had spent more time doubled over in laughter than doing anything else. They were fond memories scattered through an often painful childhood. 

But Rania’s wedding ceremony dragged on and on. And then the reception dragged on and on, too. He had paid his dues by saying hello to members of family who hadn’t seen him since he was “this big,” had endured cheek-pinching and playful inquiries as to whenhe was going to get married, and had drank a fair amount of alcohol to ease the tension. He had also only narrowly avoided catching Rania’s garter belt. Finally, he went back to the table he and his mother had been assigned to and thought about all the other things he would rather be doing at that very moment… from the pleasurable (having coffee with Garak as they discussed Preloc) to the mundane (sitting through another one of Dr. Zimmerman’s endless posturing lectures). 

Stretching his arms above his head in an effort to stay awake, he heard the crackle of paper and his eyes lit up. To think that he had forgotten! 

_Nothing like a little mystery to breathe new life into a boring party,_ he thought. He pulled out the envelope and unfolded it. He really shouldn’t look, he knew that, and he felt slightly guilty — but not guilty enough to stop. He looked around. It was kind of exciting, he had to admit. What if there were secret government documents inside? Or a photograph of an assassinated politician with an “X” through his face? Or secret code? He snaked a hand inside and was a little disappointed that there was only one small piece of paper instead of a whole dossier on “Operation Garak.” He pulled out the note: 

  
_Elim,_  
 _I’ve waited long enough. Tonight we use them all._  
 _Impatiently yours,  
 _B__

Julian quirked an eyebrow. Well, that didn’t seem to allude to any covert government mission, unless the envelope had originally contained knives or bullets or something. Oh, well. He should have known that Garak wouldn’t leave anything important to Cardassian state security in his pockets. With a little shrug, he upended the envelope into his palm... 

…and quickly closed his hand into a fist and jammed it under the table. 

_Oh._

The little square foil package sat in his hand and he felt just a touch lightheaded. The serrated edges prickled the skin of his palm and he felt the telltale gummy-feeling circle inside the wrapper.

So the last time Garak had worn this suit, it would seem that the covert operations he had engaged in were more along the lines of being “under cover.” 

Almost against his will, he looked down into his hand. Most of the writing was Cardassian, but a somewhat cartoony logo of a Cardassian military crest was identifiable, as were the Standard words “Extra large” and “Lubricated.” 

And that brought several concrete images to Julian’s mind.

 _Well, Julian, you’ve kissed him, for God’s sake, and you’re old enough to know what kissing leads to,_ his brain chastised him. _Haven’t you been trying to convince yourself that you’re ready for the next step? Well, here is evidence of Garak taking that next step._

Julian’s body felt tingly; his breath was short and his heart was pounding. He slouched in his chair and closed his eyes. Wasn’t it just last night he had been mentally complaining that he and Garak were still at the “holding hands” stage? That he was tired of making all the first moves? Now here he was: possibly having a panic attack just knowing that Garak had had sex. That his friend had gone out, in that very suit, and a lover had given him God only knew how many condoms, and that there was only one left, and that they had ended up in bed and….

His mouth was drier than he’d thought possible. The truth was his mind hadn’t really progressed to the logical conclusion. He’d been approaching the situation superficially — kisses that were more passionate, Garak’s hands touching him, their bodies pressed against each other. But sex? Real, honest-to-god sex that necessitated the use of a condom?

_Oh, God._

His fist tightened around the wrapper.

Even at its most adventurous, every time that his mind had strayed in the general vicinity of intimacy with Garak, it had stopped pretty much right at third base; but since Garak never pushed for more than what Julian offered, it was easy to disregard the implications of their “dates.” It was easy to forget the fact that many people, when they ended dates like his and Garak’s, went home to make love afterwards. 

But this little discovery now forced him to think about how far he really wanted to go.

They had always maintained that they could step back the pace of their relationship whenever Julian wanted. And again, Garak had been more than a little tentative whenever he had attempted to make a move. Even touching his shoulder the night before had seemed like some enormously intimate gesture to the tailor. But surely Garak would want more than hand-holding at some point. Was Julian ready for a real relationship, with all the implications that a “real relationship” entailed?

He closed his eyes. Just as he had imagined what Garak looked like when he had fit into the slender suit, so now did he imagine what Garak looked like in said suit, pressed against a lover. He wondered if “B” was a man or a woman. The handwriting didn’t really give any clue; from receiving notes from Garak and seeing script on signs and writing in comic books, Julian knew that the Cardassian education system tended to school its pupils in graceful elegant cursive that didn’t really give any gender-tells. He imagined both way. First, Garak kissing a beautiful young Cardassian woman, the tailor’s strong hands at the base of her neck, fingers entwining in the type of elaborate hair-do Cardassian women seemed to prefer. He swallowed. Then the switch: Garak’s body pressed against another man, their hands roving over each other’s bodies, kissing passionately, almost fiercely; chest to chest, hip to hip…

And what was that? A weird twist in his stomach. Almost like anger, but different. It was more visceral. 

_Oh, God,_ he thought as realization hit. 

It was jealousy. What he was feeling was jealousy. 

He shook his head. It had come completely out of nowhere, and he felt like a fool. Of course Garak had had relationships before. Just because he was a solitary person now, didn’t mean that he had always been. Of course Garak had had other lovers in the past.

And that was a development, too, wasn’t it? He had thought “other lovers” as in “additional lovers.” Lovers other than he, Julian Bashir. 

He took a drink out of the champagne flute sitting on the table, unsure of whose it was or whether it was a great idea to add more alcohol into the mix, but his mouth was uncomfortably dry in a way that water would certainly not help. 

He looked back down to the foil package in his hand and imagined handing it to Garak. Looking into Garak’s soul-searing blue eyes, intense with un-spoken and un-acted upon feelings. Julian nodding. Garak opening the package. Garak unrolling…

He closed his eyes and bit his lip. _Damn,_ he thought. He looked around, hoping that no one was near enough to see his body’s reactions. _Great, Julian, just great. Because of course your cousin Rania’s fancy wedding with all of your family within spitting distance is the perfect place to become aroused thinking about your middle-aged Cardassian…_

_…boyfriend._

_Oh, God._

He wished there was some kind of device that could magically transport him back to his apartment before anyone…. 

“Julian!” Rania flounced down next to him, billows of white wedding dress practically obscuring the view of his petite cousin. He nearly gasped at the sudden intrusion and stuffed his hand in his pocket, hoping that she wouldn’t see the state he was in. He looked up to see Rania’s look of confusion — which was quickly replaced by deviousness. 

“Oh, something you don’t want me to see, huh?” Her small hands were then prying his fingers open as a wave of panic crashed over him.

She nabbed the package and lifted her arm victoriously… and then stared at him wide-eyed when she realized what it was. “Julian! I can’t believe you’re planning on using _my wedding_ as a way to get lucky. What would your _mother_ say?! And you use Legate’s brand? Kinky!” 

He grabbed her hand and brought it quickly down below the table again. “Shh. Keep your voice down. Please.” His pleas had never swayed her much when they were kids, but he hoped against hope that this time she would have mercy. 

She was giggling. “Oh, and what will you give me for my silence?” 

With a sick feeling in his stomach, he told her the truth: “Anything.” 

She sat and thought about it for a while. “Tell me who’s at the top of your list right now, and I might see fit to keep my mouth shut. Unless it’s one of my bridesmaids. In that case I get to tell them that my handsome, future-doctor cousin wants to take them out and I get to be the godmother of all of your children.” 

He took the condom back from her and stuffed it into his pocket. There was no way he was going to tell her who was “at the top of his list.” He sighed and tried to emulate Garak’s placid expression. “I’m not looking for a hook-up. I borrowed this suit and it was in one of the pockets.” 

“Oh.” She looked disappointed. “So your friend is getting laid and you’re not? I’m disappointed, Julian! Your mom has already told me how worried she is that you’ll end up the old maid of the family.” 

“What?” He felt maybe a bit more indignant than he thought he would have. 

Rania laughed. “Oh, you’re just as easy to tease as when we were kids! Do you remember the time I told all your friends how you…”

* * * 

After Rania sat down with him, the evening picked up a little. Even though she had caused him no end of grief when they were younger, they had always had a wonderful time together. She was a bit like Jadzia; Rania’s playful, carefree attitude had a way of making everyone around her have a good time.

At his cousin’s urging, he’d hit the dance floor (without taking off his vest), and after a few more drinks, he was feeling pretty loose. Yet in spite of all of the activity, his mind wandered again and again back to Garak and the items burning a hole in his pocket. He took a break from dancing and went to get another drink, swirling the glass as he leaned against the bar. 

Now that the initial shock had worn off, he felt more than a little guilty about having snooped through his friend’s belongings. The problem was, Garak kept everything so… well, close to the vest (he rolled his eyes at his own pun) that it would have been impossible _not_ to want to learn a little more about his past. What little Julian felt he did know about the tailor tended to be more on the philosophical level: Garak’s view of Romulan vs. Vulcan movies, or his ideas on the individual’s role in society. Never anything like “Oh, back when I was younger I was an assassin for Cardassia” or “Oh, that reminds me of the time my lover and I went out and they gave me an envelope full of condoms and insisted we use them all.” 

No. Garak’s past was always veiled and Bashir had been forced to piece together a patchwork of what his experiences might have been from tidbits scattered like crumbs on one of the tables he had to clean at Deep Dish 9 every day. The fact that Garak thought []The Never-ending Sacrifice[] was the greatest piece of Cardassian literature left Julian to infer certain things about his values, but what Garak had been doing when he first read the book would forever remain a mystery. That Garak loved gardening spoke to a quiet nature, but told him nothing about whether he had always liked gardening or if it was a hobby picked up after more… vigorous… activities had fallen away. 

Julian liked mysteries, but it would have been nice to have one or two clues to go on! 

Yet now he did have a couple of concrete clues, or at least more concrete than most: Garak had at one time been much thinner and he had been sexually involved with a person whose name started with the letter “B.” And he used Legate’s brand, which according to his cousin, equated to kinky sex.

Which frankly _still_ didn’t give Julian that much to go on. 

Julian tossed back the rest of his drink, preparing to go back out and dance the chicken-dance with his cousin, but felt heat at the back of his neck. Looking around, he saw his mom and Mrs. Prashat, their nosey old next-door neighbor, looking at him. He gave a half-hearted wave and his mom smiled at him. Mrs. Prashat just shook her head and turned back to talk to his mom. 

_Well, that was weird,_ he thought. He’d never liked Mrs. Prashat — in fact he and Rania used to pretend she was the witch from Hansel and Gretel and they had imagined various stories where the end result was pushing her into an oven — but he had never done anything to her, at least not within the last ten years. Nothing that would require a disapproving headshake. 

Oh well, the first few strains of polka were starting and Rania was beckoning to him. He went back out into the crowd. 

* * * 

Julian collapsed rather unceremoniously into the passenger seat of his mom’s car. Hand in his pocket absentmindedly squishing the foil package, alcohol coursing through his bloodstream, he felt giddy and lightheaded and altogether not too bad at all. 

“You drank too much,” his mom said, but there was more amusement than reproach in her voice. 

“Yeah, maybe a little,” he agreed. 

She chuckled. “Well, even when you’ve had too much to drink you are still better company than your father.” 

He snorted. In Julian’s opinion at least, he could be dead and still be better company than his dad. 

His mom continued. “And while I’m glad you came with me tonight, you know you could have brought a date.” 

“Mom…” He suddenly felt exhausted and did _not_ want to start this conversation. 

“What? Were you afraid that your family would embarrass you? We’re not all that bad, you know.” 

“It’s not that.” Even though, God, yes that was part of it. 

“Then what? Every time I call you, you can’t speak to me because you’re out doing something interesting… I know you must be going out on dates. You’re a young man, you _should_ be getting out. But I haven’t met anyone since Palis, and that was years ago.” 

Julian’s face scrunched. “Can we talk about this some other time?” 

His mom sighed. “All right.” She sat quietly for a moment, and he thought he was off the hook, but no luck. “I just want you to know that no matter who you’re dating, I love you. Nothing would ever change that.” 

Through the haze, Julian’s mind swirled, and he began feeling uncomfortable; his mental warning system was beginning to give off little klaxons of alarm. 

She kept going. “I mean, as long as you’re happy, you know that I support you, right? And while your father is a difficult man, he loves you, too. It might take time for him to accept… certain things… but he loves you so very much, and he is more open-minded than you might think.” 

“OK,” was all he managed, sobriety clawing at him with cold fingernails. 

“OK,” she agreed. She affected her “nonchalant/changing-the-subject” voice. “You do look so nice in that suit. You know, I saw a tailor’s shop in that mall you work in. If you wanted, you could go there and have a suit made for you. My treat.” 

He swallowed. “I’ll think about it.” _Would this car ride never end?_ he wondered.

She nodded. “It’s just that, Mrs. Prashat — you remember Mrs. Prashat from next door when we lived on Brandywine Street, well — she mentioned that she had seen you at the theater not too long ago, and that while your companion was dressed very nicely, it looked like you could use some new clothes.” 

_Oh, God._

“Of course, maybe your friend will see how good you look in that suit and will just give it to you.” 

Finally they were in front of his apartment building. “Yeah, well, maybe. Thanks for the ride, mom. Love you.” He kissed her cheek and practically ran out of the car. 

Walking up the stairs to his apartment, Julian’s mind was spinning through a gauzy layer of alcohol and questions. What had Mrs. Prashat seen and what had she told his mom? Which theater outing had the old busy-body been present at? One of the early times, when everything was very platonic and proper? Or later, when they had started experimenting with hand-holding and covert kisses?

Or that one time when he had playfully grabbed Garak’s behind just to see what his reaction would be…

Once inside his apartment, he closed the door and sagged against it. He almost wished he would just pass out. At least that way he wouldn’t have to think about anything until tomorrow. 

But his mind clung doggedly to consciousness, swimming with conclusions. 

God, it was one thing for the people at work to give him grief about spending time with Garak. It was bad enough that Miles teased him about it while they played video games or that Nerys warned him about the deviousness and lechery of Cardassian men. But his family? He knew his mom; tonight’s little conversation would be just the beginning. She would poke and prod and be very understanding and supportive — but understanding and supportive in a way that would drive him crazy. And then his dad? He could barely stand to be in the same room with the man. And even though his mom and his dad didn’t see or talk to each other much anymore, he knew that his mom would make a point to call the bastard now; to warn him about… what? That their son was dating an older man? His mom warning his dad that he’d better be supportive or he would damage the already frayed relationship he had with his son? 

Not that he could imagine his dad talking to him about anything anyway; that wasn’t his way. His way was to run away from uncomfortable subjects. To pretend that nothing was wrong and that everything was going perfectly. All the while, his subconscious would be festering with the idea that his son was failing him in yet one more way. 

Well, it wasn’t his or anyone else’s business who he dated. Julian liked Garak. Liked him a lot. The tailor was funny and intelligent. They always had a good time together and he had never met anyone with whom conversation felt so natural. Maybe Julian wasn’t sure what he was getting into. Maybe the possibilities sometimes scared him a little. But he wasn’t going to let anyone make him feel bad about being with Garak. And if he wanted to see where things went romantically, well, that was between the two of them; and no one else.

Julian went into his bedroom and began to take off the suit. He thought of how Garak had divested him of the jacket the night before, and his heart thudded in his chest. Then he remembered the feeling of the tailor’s fingers running over his ribs as he pinned the vest — and his heart beat faster still. He imagined that the tailor’s fingers would be just as skillful and efficient in unfastening the pants.

In front of the mirror he closed his eyes. Suddenly it was very easy to envision Garak behind him, looking at his reflection in the mirror, his arms around him; soft, cool lips at the base of his neck. Did Julian like the idea? From the fluttering in his stomach and other telltale signs, it appeared so. 

He looked at the note. “I’ve waited long enough,” it said, and Julian wondered if this “B” person had been just as frustrated with Garak’s prolonging the inevitable as he was. He couldn’t help but laugh. Giving the object of your affections an envelope of condoms was one way to ensure your message was getting across.

The ensemble finally back on the hanger, Julian slouched on his bed just looking at it. Next to his hand were the envelope and its contents. “Impatiently yours,” the note said.

There was no way he could go to sleep with so much Garak in the room. And frankly, he was feeling a bit impatient himself.

This time when Garak answered the door, he _did_ look sleep-mussed, and Julian realized that it was probably after 1:00 AM. He mentally kicked himself for not checking the time, but he hadn’t really been thinking straight. 

“Julian. This is a surprise.” Garak blinked once or twice blearily. “How was the wedding?” 

“It was… a wedding,” he said, and cringed at his ineloquence. Oh, God, maybe this wasn’t a good idea. He didn’t feel _drunk_ anymore, but there was definitely an undercurrent of alcohol still buzzing in his system. He held out the hanger. “My mom thought this looked really nice on me.” 

Garak shook his head and let out a little laugh. “I’m glad she liked it. But, my dear, you really didn’t need to return it tonight.” 

“I wanted to see you,” Julian blurted out. 

A brief look of surprise passed over Garak’s features, but they quickly reverted to their placid expression again. “Would you like to come in?” Julian nodded and Garak closed the door behind him.

“It looks like you had a very enjoyable time.” There was a tone of amusement in his friend’s voice, and Julian just nodded as he collapsed onto Garak’s couch. The tailor hung the suit on the back of a chair, directly in Julian’s eyesight, and then walked into the kitchen, returning a moment later to hand him a glass of water. “I think you had better drink this.” 

Julian nodded and drank half of it down. “Garak, I was just wondering: when was the last time you wore that suit?” 

Garak sat down next to him and tilted his head. Julian saw his eyes narrow just a bit. “I don’t know. It’s been a number of years.” 

“What did you do when you wore it?” 

Narrower. “As I recall, I went to the opera with a friend.” 

“A friend whose name started with a B?” 

Julian watched as Garak’s spine straightened; saw how his eyes grew just a bit sharper. It was little things like this — small and subtle — that were not the way a simple tailor should look. “As a matter of fact, yes.” He paused, and Julian felt like he was being dissected… everything being exposed to Garak’s penetrating glance. A shiver ran up Julian’s back. 

“Shall I assume that there was something left in a pocket?” Garak asked, his face bordering on stern. Julian didn’t respond, just pulled the envelope, note, and condom from his flannel pants, placing the items in the tailor’s upturned hand. Garak glanced at the items briefly, and then put them into the pocket of his robe. 

“You didn’t use them all,” Julian said quietly. 

Garak’s jaw was tight. “As I recall, the note was attached to a box of ten, and wewere quite tired after the opera.” 

“Oh,” was all Julian managed to say, and he felt his heart at the back of his throat. _That meant… nine? Oh, God._

“Well, I appreciate you returning my belongings. If there’s nothing else, I will bid you goodnight.” The tailor’s protective shield was palpable between them as he stood. Garak looked at him expectantly, waiting for Julian to follow suit, but he refused to move. 

“You and your friend were… close?” 

Garak lips were tight. “I would think that was fairly obvious.”

“Were you in love?” He hadn’t even been thinking — the words had just slipped out.

The stern look on Garak’s face was replaced with the shadow of pain that often graced his pale features when he thought Julian wasn’t looking. “Yes,” he said — a pause. “But he was not in love with me.” 

“I’m sorry.” Julian felt like an ass, but the idea that Garak, even Garak of the past, had been in love, and had admitted it to him, made Julian’s heart beat fast. 

Garak shook his head. “It was a long time ago, and I learned from the experience.” 

Julian lifted his glance from the carpet and set his jaw. “If he didn’t love you, he was a fool.” 

“You think so, do you?” Julian pressed his lips together and nodded. Garak looked at him, analyzing, but then closed his eyes and sighed. He sat back down. “No. Barkan was not the fool; I was. I should have known that it was too good to be true. So many things are.” His voice sounded full of defeat. Shields down to forty percent

Tentatively, Julian reached his hand up and placed it lightly on Garak’s cheek. Eyes still closed, Garak leaned his face into the touch, placing his own hand over Julian’s. 

“Garak, even though it didn’t work out, I’m glad to know that you were in love.” 

A rough laugh. “Is that so?” 

“It is. Because I like thinking that you weren’t always alone. That you were in love and you were happy.” 

The tailor sighed. “Being in love doesn’t necessarily mean a person is happy, Julian.” Shields at twenty percent. “In fact, it can be torture.” Ten percent. 

“But it doesn’t have to be.” 

Garak snorted quietly. “In my experience, it is the rule and not the exception.” 

Julian leaned in close. “I’m happy when I’m with you… Elim.” The other man’s eyes fluttered open. “And I like to think that you’re happy with my company.” 

“More than I have any right to be.” Shields down.

“I don’t agree. I think you deserve happiness.” He ran his fingertips along Garak’s jaw line, tilting his face up. Julian leaned in. “My mom said that I should have brought the person I’ve been dating to the wedding.”

Garak snorted and tried to pull back. “Imagine her surprise when you showed up with a washed-up, middle-aged Cardassian tailor, hm?” Julian didn’t like the sound in his voice, the distance settling in his eyes. Somehow the shields were back up.

He knotted his first in the tailor’s pajama top and yanked, bringing him close again. Garak’s eyes were wide, his pupils roughly the size of saucers. Julian leaned in even closer, whispering against his lips. “Oh, no you don’t. Don’t put yourself down. And don’t block me out.” Without hesitation he closed the gap between them.

At first, Garak’s response was minimal and Julian had to maintain a tight grip on the front of his pajamas to keep the other man from pulling away. But this was it. He’d had enough. Maybe he wasn’t ready to go all the way, but he wanted more, and he needed Garak to know it.

Julian slid his other hand down the side of Garak’s neck, squeezing the muscles in the way that had elicited the lust-filled glance the night before. He felt a sigh escape the tailor, and before Julian knew it, strong arms had wrapped around his waist, and suddenly he was no longer in charge of the kiss.

The feel of Garak’s lips on his, the delicious slide of their tongues, the powerful grip that the Cardassian had on him; everything together made Julian’s thoughts tumble about and he moaned into Garak’s mouth.

It was exciting to have Garak take the lead. He could feel the tailor’s hands reaching under his t-shirt and the cool skin of his palms and fingertips ran over his torso. Julian’s heart felt ready to burst — his pulse thundered in his ears, and the tops of his thighs tingled. He wiggled closer, running his fingers through shiny black hair.

Quickly breaking the kiss, Garak’s lips stole up behind his ear, then moved down the front of his throat. Julian squirmed… _Oh!_ The attention felt amazing. Garak’s hands grew bolder in their exploration — more confident; a thumb circled over a nipple, fingers trickling down the musculature of Julian’s stomach, through the soft hair below his navel. Julian’s memory flashed: how the silk shirt had caressed his bare skin, how he’d been curious about what the fabric of Garak’s pajamas would feel like. Now he wanted to learn what Garak’s skin would feel like as it rubbed his. He shifted his weight, scrambled a little until he was straddling the tailor’s lap, pressing their bodies together. Then they were kissing again, ravenously, and he was crushed into a tight embrace. Julian felt fingers pressing into his flesh, felt Garak’s hand at the waistband of his pajama bottoms, snaking under the elastic of his boxers, lower…

Julian gasped — his shoulders tensed in anticipation. Immediately Garak released him and Julian saw an expression he never expected to see on his friend’s face: eyes wide, forehead creased.

Garak was afraid.

“Julian, I… I apologize.” They were both out of breath and Garak quickly scooted Julian off his lap. He cleared his throat and stood up, keeping his back to him as he straightened his clothing. “I’m afraid I got a bit carried away.” His voice was cracked, still rough with passion… but nervous. “I do hope you can forgive me.”

Julian swallowed dryly. “I don’t think you need to apologize. I’m the one that crawled on top of you, after all.”

“Still. I shouldn’t have been so forward. I know you’re still unsure about… things.”

Julian stood up, placed a hand on Garak’s arm, and tried to turn him around, but the tailor wouldn’t budge. Julian “harrumphed” and rolled his eyes. He put his chin on Garak’s shoulder. How to bring the shields back down? “Maybe I’m not as unsure as you think I am. I mean, I might not be ready to ‘use them all,’ as your friend said, but I am interested in starting to work our way up to it.” Julian let his lips hover against the tailor’s ear. “If _you’re_ interested.”

Garak turned his head and looked at him from the corner of his eye. “You know that I am.”

“Then why don’t you sit back down with me?” He entwined their fingers and gave the tailor’s arm a tug. “I think we should talk about this.”

“Perhaps we could discuss this at another time. It’s quite late.” Garak’s features resumed their usual benign look as they sat. 

“I don’t care if it’s late. I want to talk now.” 

Then Garak’s look was pleading. “Please, Julian…” 

Julian let out an aggravated groan. “No. I don’t understand. I know you want this. You want me. And,” he took a breath. “I want you too. Isn’t that enough?” 

“It’s not that simple, my dear.” 

“Why not? Why does everything have to be so complicated with you? Why does everything have to be a puzzle?” 

Garak rubbed his eyes. “You don’t understand.”

“I know. We’ve established that. And you want to know why I don’t understand? Because you never just tell me anything! I have to guess and infer and deduce. You write me love notes in Cardassian, or you take me to confounding plays that hint at romance but in the end everyone ends up dying. You give me novels full of metaphors and you allude to an intriguing past, but I’m never just let in. You could never just say: ‘’Julian, I like you. Want to fool around?’” 

Garak glanced at him, expression detached. “If that is what you expect of me, then I rather suspect you will always be disappointed.”

Julian rubbed a hand over his eyes. “Was it this complicated with Barkan? Did you keep him guessing too?”

Garak’s jaw set. “What is between you and me is nothing like what was between me and Barkan.”

Julian didn't want to let the hurt show, so he settled on anger instead. “Well, I’m sorry I’m not him,” he snapped.

His breath hitched at Garak’s expression. The older man reached out and took hold of his shoulder, eyes wide. “You misunderstand, Julian. You could never be like him, and that is all to your credit.” He leaned back into the couch. “You ask me if my relationship with Barkan was complicated… it is from him that I learned some of the hardest lessons of my life. Back then, I was… no. I don’t even want to talk about it.” He looked almost nauseated.

Julian had never seen Garak like this, but he was desperate. “Please, Garak. I need to know.” 

The older man’s lips were pressed together, his forehead creased, his shoulders slumped. After a moment of silence, Garak nodded, as though he had come to a decision. Then he laughed darkly. “Do you remember when you were on that ‘Phantom of the Opera’ obsession?” 

Julian just looked at him. _Seriously?_ he thought. _We’re going to discuss literature and cinema_ now? He knew his impatience showed on his face by the uncomfortable look that flashed across Garak’s features. With a sigh, he leaned back. _OK, I’ll play along_. “I remember. And mostly what I remember is how unimpressed you were with the musical.” 

“Yes, well, there were certain aspects I found to be overly melodramatic.” There was a brief smile, but then Garak closed his eyes. Whatever his friend was dealing with must have been awful, the pain was so thick that Julian couldn’t feel angry; he reached out and placed his hand over Garak’s. 

“You preferred the 1943 film version, but I think it’s just because you have a crush on Claude Rains.” Julian’s lips quirked into a smile at the sharp glance Garak shot him, but felt relieved when Garak’s hand squeezed his. Yet after a moment, Garak released his grasp and folded his hands primly in his lap.

“Well, he was a fine actor and played some very intriguing roles — but my affinity for Claude Rains is really beside the point, my dear.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I told you that the reason I disliked the musical was that it didn’t do nearly enough to explain the phantom's past. And you said that was rich coming from me.”

Julian snorted. “It did seem hypocritical.”

“Yes, well, perhaps you were right. Without the phantom’s history, his actions are just the machinations of a madman. If he is to be a sympathetic character at all, the audience needs to know what made Erik the way he was.”

“I agree,” Julian said, looking pointedly at Garak. “It is hard to understand a story — or a person — without knowing something of the past.”

Garak sat for a minute, obviously trying to arrange his thoughts. After a moment he sunk back into the couch and groaned. “It’s too late for this, Julian. We should talk tomorrow when I’ll be better able to evade you.”

Julian felt a flare of frustration. “Yes, because evasion and lies are the perfect foundation for a relationship.”

And the pained look was back in full force on Garak’s face. “They have been the only foundations I have ever known, Julian, and habits are very difficult to break. Especially when what rest even further down is not very pleasant.”

Julian sighed. It didn’t seem like it should be his job to help with this, but he had a knack for taking on more than he should. “So you put on a mask,” he offered.

Garak nodded. “Yes, because when you cannot change the situation you were born into, or alter any of the things you’ve done — or what has been done to you — you need something you can control. And perhaps, like Erik, it is a parent that gives you your first mask when they find you too repulsive to look at.”

And Julian was unable to smother the gasp that escaped his lips. Garak looked up sharply, and Julian might as well have been naked for how exposed he felt. He knew all about earning the shame of a parent — knew well how a person that was supposed to love unconditionally could force a child to become something they weren’t meant to be. Julian could see the recognition in his friend’s expression — saw the light of understanding in his eyes.

Julian bit his lip before he spoke. “So the mask becomes part of who you are.”

“Maybe not just a part. Maybe, after years and years of living behind the mask, it becomes more real than the person wearing it.” Garak shook his head. “But there is more than just the mask and disfigurement. The phantom also had a sharp, creative mind. He was gifted.” Garak let out a sigh. “But gifts so often come with a price.”

Julian nodded. His own gifts had come with a hefty price indeed, and he was sure that Garak’s own payment was equally steep. He felt Garak shift next to him, and turned to see his friend’s hand slip into the pocket of his robe where the items Julian had found in the grey suit were stashed.

Garak’s voice was quiet, almost as if he was talking to himself. “But while Erik’s talents could have been used to create beautiful things, no one was interested in those gifts. No. The people who recognized his potential were only interested in the way his mind could build traps and deceptions. He became their tool; a lever to be pulled, a knife to be wielded. And eventually a liability to be eliminated.” 

“Even by the people he loved?” Julian asked as he remembered the pain he’d seen on Garak’s face when he’d talked about Barkan.

When Garak looked up, his eyes were dark and he had never looked less like a tailor. “Especially by the people he loved.” His voice was low and Julian shivered. After a moment, though, Garak shook his head, and he was once again Julian’s slightly pudgy, middle-aged, chocolate-loving friend. “But even though he became their tool, and he did things that assured his damnation, he still remembered what he was like before falling from grace. And when he sees his ideal of beauty, intelligence, and innocence personified in the form of a charming ingénue, he remembers something else: he remembers what it felt like to want something for himself. Each time he speaks with the object of his affection, it is easy to forget the horrors of his life. He starts fooling himself into thinking he can claim the one he longs for.”

“Maybe he isn’t fooling himself,” Julian said, taking his hand. “Maybe he _can_ have what he desires.”

“But Julian, remember the text. His fate is sealed as soon as his mask is ripped away to expose the ugly reality to the eyes of his beloved.”

_Beloved._ The word echoed around in Julian’s mind.

Garak shook his head. “I’m a fool who has said too much already. But ‘in for a penny...’” He straightened his posture and fixed his eyes on Julian. “When I am with you, my dear, I can almost forget about my past — about the ugliness there. I can bask in your presence and remember what it was like to feel hope. You make me want to be better than what I was.” 

Julian’s heart throbbed. “Then why can’t we just go with that?”

Garak’s voice was low. “Because there are implications and possible outcomes that have to be dealt with.” He gave a dry laugh. “And frankly, it has been so long that I don’t know what the next move is.”

Julian groaned. “Relationships aren’t like a game of kotra, Garak. You don’t always have to have your next fifteen moves planned out.”

The tailor snorted, looking drained. “You’ll have to forgive me; I have more experience with kotra than I do with love.”

Julian’s eyes widened. ‘Beloved,’ and now ‘love,’ and of course that was what it came down to. He might not understand what Garak was so afraid of him finding out, but the other man’s feelings towards him were clear. Now it was up to him. Could he possibly feel the same way? 

The his thoughts turned to coffee shops and hand-knitted scarves. He remembered laughing at poorly directed, made-for-TV Preloc dramatizations and heated arguments over poetry. Julian reached out and took Garak’s hand, warmed where their skin connected. Feeling the rightness of it.

“Well, perhaps we can work with that,” he said, turning to face his friend fully.

Straightening his shoulders, he attempted to emulate the way Garak acted when he was trying to ‘impart wisdom.’ “In the game of love, there are many different opening moves. One of my favorites doesn’t always come easily at first, but it’s a very important gambit. It’s called: ‘letting it happen.’” He ran his fingers through Garak’s hair and cradled his chin, tilting it up. “But it requires both parties to relax and just go with it.” He kissed him, lightly at first, and then he nipped at Garak’s lip and the shiver that started in Garak’s body quickly moved through his own.

Julian allowed his hands to travel back up to the tailor’s shoulders, delighting in the desire gracing the other man’s face. “Then you build on ‘letting it happen’ with your next move: ‘escalation.’” He looked deeply into those deep blue eyes, and then pulled his t-shirt off and let it fall to the floor. He saw conflicting emotions written over the other man’s features — desire and fear —but Julian shook his head, tracing his finger across an eyebrow and down to his chin. “No, you’re overthinking already, which means we have to introduce another strategy: ‘not worrying so goddamned much.’” He ran his thumb over the creases in Garak’s forehead until the muscles loosened.

“Elim…” He let the name linger in the air. “I’m not afraid. One day I think I’d like to see you without your mask, but I’m not going to rip it off. And I hope that one day your shields will be lowered more often than they’re raised… but I know it will be a process. What I need to know is if you’re even willing to allow for the possibility.”

Garak’s hands settled on his hips, and after a moment, he pulled him into his lap. Julian felt a thrill run up his spine at the exposed, un-guarded expression on his friend’s face. “Julian, with you, I think that I might be willing to try the game again.”


End file.
